chapter 1 (near Smolensk, August 1812)
Nov. 1st, 2002 01:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieCaptain Ruslan Nizharadze, cavalry officer in the First West Army, serving under General Mikhail Barclay de Tolly, who in turn served Czar Alexander, was about as unhappy as it was possible for him to be. He'd never wanted to be in the army, and he'd certainly never wanted to ride out in defense of his dubious homeland (he was Ukrainian, not Russian, and in fact felt no burning love for either), and he'd most certainly never wanted to ride out in defense against the French, and be beaten back.
The Czar ordered so they went, and the French attacked so they retreated. They'd been retreating since June, when the French swarmed over the Niemen River. It was August now. They'd been avoiding a battle with the Grande Armee all this time, but a day or two ahead of them lay Smolensk, where the First West Army would join the Second, which was led by General Peter Bagration who couldn't stand Barclay de Tolly, and word was they'd make a stand and fight Napoleon's army there. Captain Nizharadze could not have cared less.
He wanted to go home, which was Odessa, although he didn't particularly like Odessa. He didn't particularly like the Ukraine or Russia, come to that. He'd been to St Petersburg, which he did like, because it was more western, more European. He thought his country was a backwater monarchy, old-fashioned and hidebound and uncivilized. He wanted to see Italy and France (yes, he wanted to visit France, from whence came the army massed against him) and Spain and Greece and Switzerland, Prussia and Austria and England and anywhere that wasn't here. He could only hope the Czar's army smashed the French into the ground at Smolensk and that somehow he could come to the end of his military service and get out of this place.
(He even wanted to go to America, although he had heard next to nothing about it, except that it was a young frontier country and full of naked savages. Well, he thought, Russia and the Ukraine are full of clothed savages, what's the difference?)
Now he lay on his cot in his tent, fully dressed except for his boots, wishing he were someone else somewhere else, hating having to run from the Grande Armee but hating having to stand and fight them either. He couldn't sleep but he didn't want to get up and be with his men, or anyone else under Barclay de Tolly's command. He wasn't sure what he wanted, other than something else.
Captain Nizharadze - Ruslan to his friends - was twenty-four years old, tall and slim, with unfashionably long dark hair, brown eyes flecked with gold, a straight nose, and a strong chin. He dressed well. He carried himself like a soldier, straight and tall and with a hint of arrogance. He was beautiful and he knew it, and he was intelligent and he knew that too. He could command men, whether he wanted to or not. He kept his secrets. He was a crack shot with a rifle and a fair hand with a sword, and although he didn't want to have to fight in a day or two, or whenever they took a stand against Napoleon's army, he was fairly sure he could kill enough men to survive.
His will to survive was strong, stronger even than his desire to leave. But they were probably the same thing, his desire to leave stemming from a sense of self-preservation. Now he wondered idly if he would live to see thirty, if he stayed in Russia. Not whether or not the Czar's war with France would kill him, but if Russia herself would.
words: 615
history lesson from napoleonguide.com. mistakes are all mine.
The Czar ordered so they went, and the French attacked so they retreated. They'd been retreating since June, when the French swarmed over the Niemen River. It was August now. They'd been avoiding a battle with the Grande Armee all this time, but a day or two ahead of them lay Smolensk, where the First West Army would join the Second, which was led by General Peter Bagration who couldn't stand Barclay de Tolly, and word was they'd make a stand and fight Napoleon's army there. Captain Nizharadze could not have cared less.
He wanted to go home, which was Odessa, although he didn't particularly like Odessa. He didn't particularly like the Ukraine or Russia, come to that. He'd been to St Petersburg, which he did like, because it was more western, more European. He thought his country was a backwater monarchy, old-fashioned and hidebound and uncivilized. He wanted to see Italy and France (yes, he wanted to visit France, from whence came the army massed against him) and Spain and Greece and Switzerland, Prussia and Austria and England and anywhere that wasn't here. He could only hope the Czar's army smashed the French into the ground at Smolensk and that somehow he could come to the end of his military service and get out of this place.
(He even wanted to go to America, although he had heard next to nothing about it, except that it was a young frontier country and full of naked savages. Well, he thought, Russia and the Ukraine are full of clothed savages, what's the difference?)
Now he lay on his cot in his tent, fully dressed except for his boots, wishing he were someone else somewhere else, hating having to run from the Grande Armee but hating having to stand and fight them either. He couldn't sleep but he didn't want to get up and be with his men, or anyone else under Barclay de Tolly's command. He wasn't sure what he wanted, other than something else.
Captain Nizharadze - Ruslan to his friends - was twenty-four years old, tall and slim, with unfashionably long dark hair, brown eyes flecked with gold, a straight nose, and a strong chin. He dressed well. He carried himself like a soldier, straight and tall and with a hint of arrogance. He was beautiful and he knew it, and he was intelligent and he knew that too. He could command men, whether he wanted to or not. He kept his secrets. He was a crack shot with a rifle and a fair hand with a sword, and although he didn't want to have to fight in a day or two, or whenever they took a stand against Napoleon's army, he was fairly sure he could kill enough men to survive.
His will to survive was strong, stronger even than his desire to leave. But they were probably the same thing, his desire to leave stemming from a sense of self-preservation. Now he wondered idly if he would live to see thirty, if he stayed in Russia. Not whether or not the Czar's war with France would kill him, but if Russia herself would.
words: 615
history lesson from napoleonguide.com. mistakes are all mine.
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beta chapter 1
Date: 2003-09-04 05:11 pm (UTC)Captain Ruslan Nizharadze, cavalry officer in the First West Army, serving under General Mikhail Barclay de Tolly, was about as unhappy as it was possible for him to be. He'd never wanted to be in the army, he'd certainly never wanted to ride out in defense of his dubious homeland ( we find out what he thinks of Ukraine and Russia shortly, the original parenthesis here seemed repetitive), and he'd most certainly never wanted to ride out in defense against the French, only to be beaten back.
The Czar ordered, so they went; and the French attacked, so they retreated. They'd been retreating since June, when the French swarmed over the Niemen River. It was August now. They'd been avoiding a battle with the Grande Armee all this time, but a day or two ahead of them lay Smolensk, where the First West Army would join the Second, [which was led by General Peter Bagration who couldn't stand Barclay de Tolly,](seems wordy-is this necessary here, or can you mention it later if it's important?) The word was they'd make a stand and fight Napoleon's army there. Captain Nizharadze could not have cared less.
He wanted to go home, which was Odessa, although he didn't particularly like Odessa. He didn't particularly like the Ukraine or Russia, come to that. He'd been to St Petersburg, which he did like, because it was more western, more European. He thought his country was a backwater monarchy, old-fashioned, hidebound and uncivilized. He wanted to see Italy and France (yes, he wanted to visit France, from whence came the army massed against him), Spain and Greece and Switzerland, Prussia and Austria and England and anywhere that wasn't here. He could only hope the Czar's army smashed the French into the ground at Smolensk so that somehow he could come to the end of his military service and get out of this place.
(He even wanted to go to America, although he had heard next to nothing about it, except that it was a young frontier country, full of naked savages. Well, he thought, Russia and the Ukraine are full of clothed savages, what's the difference?)
Captain Nizharadze - Ruslan to his friends - was twenty-four years old, tall and slim, with unfashionably long dark hair, brown eyes flecked with gold, a straight nose, and a strong chin. He dressed well. He carried himself like a soldier, straight and tall and with a hint of arrogance. He was beautiful and he knew it, and he was intelligent and he knew that too. He could command men, whether he wanted to or not. He kept his secrets. He was a crack shot with a rifle and a fair hand with a sword, and although he didn't want to have to fight in a day or two, or whenever they took a stand against Napoleon's army, he was fairly sure he could kill enough men to survive.
Now he lay on his cot in his tent, fully dressed except for his boots, wishing he were someone else somewhere else, hating having to run from the Grande Armee but hating having to stand and fight them as well. He couldn't sleep, but he didn't want to get up and be with his men, or anyone else under Barclay de Tolly's command. He wasn't sure what he wanted, other than something else.
His will to survive was strong, stronger even than his desire to leave. But they were probably the same thing, his desire to leave stemming from a sense of self-preservation. Now he wondered idly if he would live to see thirty, if he stayed in Russia. Not whether or not the Czar's war with France would kill him, but if Russia herself would.
(The biggest problem I see with your style is an overuse of "and"s. They make sentences seem run-on. Try to find more creative ways to link phrases.)
Re: beta chapter 1
Date: 2003-09-04 05:14 pm (UTC)